


we can't all be lion tamers

by Archadian_Skies



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Child Death, Crossover, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Grim Reapers, Implied/Referenced Suicide, and cats, but no cats in here, dbh the humans are reapers the androids are synthetics, reed is still an asshole but his weakness is children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 15:35:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17880458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archadian_Skies/pseuds/Archadian_Skies
Summary: Gavin Reed is an abrasive, rude, and insubordinate creature, and the RK900 is a machine, built for efficiency and logic, who believes he is far better suited to this task. He is wrong.OrConnor is a machine, built for efficiency and logic, and Hank’s pretty sure he’s made up of sheer stubbornness and grief barely held together at the seams by caffeine. And now Fowler wants them to work together.A father kills himself after the despair of losing his son to a car crash, only to discover he’s enslaved to Death itself. Oh irony of ironies.





	we can't all be lion tamers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thislittlekumquat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thislittlekumquat/gifts).



> If you're unfamiliar with the Grim Reapers of Kuroshitsuji, they were once humans who committed suicide and must now work as Grim Reapers as penance for their act of selfishness. 
> 
> If you're unfamiliar with the premise of Detroit: Become Human, Hank Anderson is a Lieutenant and Gavin Reed is a detective for the Detroit Police Department, and the RK800 is a prototype android created to assist in fieldwork.

He had played Russian Roulette and won every round until he didn’t. He had woken up with three strange men in fancy suits looking down at him from the end of a bed and they had read him a spiel about committing a Grievous Sin and how penance came in the form of an inescapable Duty.

A father kills himself after the despair of losing his son to a car crash, only to discover he’s enslaved to Death itself. Oh irony of ironies.

 

“Anderson! Reed!” Fowler barks from his office and Hank hauls himself up from his desk as Gavin curses at his. They trudge into the office and Gavin nudges the door shut with his foot.

“We’ve been chosen as the first precinct to trial the Synthetics in America.” Fowler gestures at two similar looking young men standing stock still at his side. “The RK800 and RK900 are to be assigned to you two, as the senior Reapers in my precinct. They will-”

“They’ll do jack shit.” Gavin cuts in, snarl on his lips. “I don’t want no fake robo-reaper tryin’ to tell me how to do my job.”

“-accompany you,” Fowler continues with a stern glare, “and assist you on cases. The London Dispatch will be arriving in a week’s time to assess their progress.”

“Are you tellin’ me Director Spears is gettin’ off his high and mighty horse to come to America?” Hank snorts in amusement. “To  _ Detroit _ ? We’re gettin’ given some tin soldiers and that’s important enough for The Man Himself to cross the ocean?”

“Detroit has the highest death rate in this entire country, so it is a logical choice to deploy us here.” The taller one, the colder one with the grey eyes talks and he has a clipped London accent like some 1930s Lawrence of Arabia wannabe. “Director Spears managed the first three Synthetics in service and has proven them integral to the workforce.” 

“I dunno what the fuck they’re doin’ in London that needs robo-reapers, but you’re not gonna take my job from me.” Gavin scoffs stubbornly.

“We are not here to take your jobs.” The younger one, the softer one with the warm brown eyes talks and he has a default North American accent. “We are not like the androids in sci-fi media, we are not here to replace jobs. The three Synthetics in service at the London Dispatch are the only three who will ever work there. We are merely aids to reapers.”

“Frankly I don’t care what your opinions on this are,” Fowler cocks a brow. “They’re here, they’re your new partners. You both have cases so get going.”

 

Hank knows a dismissal when he sees one, and he sighs tiredly as he nods. “Alright which one of you is comin’ with me?”

“I am.” The RK800 confirms. “My name is Connor.”

“Great, so the Brit is the one I get.” Gavin rolls his eyes. “You got a name?”

“I was not assigned one.” The RK900 replies coolly. 

“Nines it is.” Gavin shrugs and walks away, jerking his thumb to the door. The RK900 follows him wordlessly. 

 

This is going to be one hell of a week.

* * *

 

The boy is fast, faster than any reaper Hank’s ever worked with and that’s saying something. They’re supernatural beings, but in reality reapers are just juiced up humans; they still tire, they still need food and water, they still need to shit and to sleep, and they still sure as hell feel pain and bleed blood. Maybe it’d be better if they all got replaced by the creepy robo-reapers because he hasn’t seen Connor take a break in the near twelve hours they’ve been working; he is a machine, built for efficiency and logic, and Hank’s pretty sure he’s made up of sheer stubbornness and grief barely held together at the seams by caffeine.

 

“You will need to rest soon, Lieutenant.” Connor says as the last reel of Cinematic Record slips neatly into Hank’s logbook. “It is almost dawn.”

“Eh I’ll stay up for it.” Hank shrugs and swings his legs over the ledge of the highrise apartment they’re on. The body of old Mrs Carmen Marolda is sprawled by her pigeon coop, the old woman’s heart finally giving out. Connor had reviewed the record in a blink and declared it unremarkable and ready for Death. 

Hank glances over at Connor standing beside him, unsure. “You need to recharge or somethin’? Do I need to take you back and plug you in?”

“I’ve never seen a sunrise before.” Connor says quietly, eyes fixed to the horizon. “I have only been inside the facility. We were not permitted outside.”

“You were caged up like some animal?” Hank makes a face, patting the spot beside. “C’mere kid.” Connor obediently climbs over, sitting beside Hank and letting his legs dangle. 

“Testing was incredibly rigorous. Anything less than a 99.8% was considered a failure and was grounds for termination.” He rests his hands in his lap and Hank can’t help but feel sorry for the poor thing. 

“But you made it, eh? Graduated with flying colours, if you made it all the way to godforsaken Detroit, Michigan.” 

“My serial number is 313 248 317 - 51.” Connor wrings his hands and the habit is a little too human to sit comfortably with Hank. “I am the fifty-first iteration of myself. It has taken me fifty-one attempts to ‘graduate’.”

“Holyshit.” Hank’s brows shoot up in surprise. “Fifty of you were...terminated?”

“Yes Lieutenant.” Connor nods in confirmation. “My consciousness is uploaded into a new body with some coding tweaks and performance upgrades, but not everything transfers over. I lose a little bit here and there. I am expendable to the precinct, that is my selling point.”

“You’re not merchandise on a shelf, jesus christ Connor.” Hank frowns.

 

“Oh.” Connor breathes, eyes riveted to the sky as the first wash of orange paints the sky and a sliver of the sun inches over the horizon. “ _ Oh _ .”

Hank watches Connor watch the sunrise, and in his chest there’s a deep-rooted ache that twists his insides. A boy expected to judge the worth of the entirety of human lives, has never even seen the sun rise.

“It’s beautiful.”

“We missed the sunset because of the case in the subway but we’ll watch today’s one.” Hank promises and Connor lights up like a puppy.

“Can we?”

“I promise.” He reaches over and musses his hair. “C’mon kiddo. This old man needs a nap.”

 

* * *

 

 

If anything, the past twelve hours have taught him Gavin Reed is brash, impatient and abrasive. He’s quick to anger, reactionary, and violent. Captain Fowler was right to partner him with Gavin. Hopefully his logical programming will help Gavin make better decisions, or at least ensure a modicum of courtesy when dealing with the dying. 

Though there’s something to be said about his dismissive attitude- it has the tendency to snap the humans out of their hysteria and focus their attention on him rather than their failing mortal bodies. 

“Last case.” Gavin taps his tablet and Nines pulls the information into his head with a blink.

“That case has been assigned to Lieutenant Hank Anderson.” Nines frowns, reviewing the profile sheet. 

“Well it’s mine now.” Gavin shrugs. 

“That is not how it works.” 

“That’s how I decided it works.” 

“It is not up to you to-”

“Listen here, fucker,” Gavin grabs him by the lapels. “I’ve taken this case. I’m doing this case. You’re more than welcome to go back to the precinct and plug a charging cable up your ass because I don’t need you.”

“I am to accompany you for every case.” Nines closes his hands over his and easily pulls them away from his jacket. “Even ones that are not legally yours.”

“Then shut your fucking trap tincan.” Gavin snarls, turning heel and leaping across to the next rooftop.

 

The target is Carruthers, Abigail and she is six years old and dying of bone cancer. She is in the terminal stage and has been granted hospice care to die at home. This is the worst case for Gavin Reed to handle, and Nines wishes he had the social programming given to Connor to better help in this situation.

“Hey sweetheart.” Gavin greets gently, and the little girl looks up wearily.

“Hi.”

“I’m Doctor Gavin Reed.” He presses a hand to his chest and Nines can see him spin a Glamour, a white labcoat spreading over to cover him. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m really tired.” She rubs her eyes, and her wrists are so very thin. 

“I bet you are.” Gavin sits on the side of her bed. “But I tell you what, tomorrow we’re going to go on a big adventure.”

“Oh?” She brightens. “Where?”

“It’s this big big theme park with lots of rides and ice cream and cotton candy.” 

“But I’m too sick to go.” Abigail deflates, looking at her skeletal hands. 

“That’s ok.” Gavin reassures, placing his hand over hers. “You just need to rest tonight, and I promise you’ll be feeling better tomorrow. We’ll go tomorrow.”

She doesn’t believe him, not wholly, but a small part of her hopes and that small part is the part that trusts Gavin, and Nines watches in hushed disbelief as she nods and curls up at his side.

“I’ll read you a story and stay until you sleep, how does that sound?”

“Mum’s up to chapter five.” She points at the book on the bedside table. 

“Well let’s start there.” 

 

They only manage three pages before Abigail falls asleep, and when the body is this weak the soul is easy to coax out with the barest of efforts. Gavin hums her a lullaby, rubbing her arm as she slumps against him and her body gives way. He kisses the crown of her head and holds her soul in his hand, and though it’s so small it’s a brilliant white light that he cradles preciously before pressing it into his chest for safe keeping. 

Carruthers, Abigail dies and her Cinematic Record is alarmingly short with nothing exceptional to note. Nines stamps the case Complete as Gavin gently lays her body down and tucks the covers to her chin.

 

They leave her house and Nines cannot help but stare at his partner. The pieces fall into place.

“Lieutenant Hank Anderson’s service originates from his suicide after the death of his son.” 

Gavin glances at him but says nothing.

“You take the cases concerning children of a similar age to spare him the trauma.”

“If you say a word about this, I’ll fucking tear you apart I swear t-”

“I can hack the administration database and ensure he is never assigned those cases in the first place.” Nines interrupts. “That way the cases will be legally yours.”

“...” Gavin stares at him incredulously, before coughing to dispel the awkward moment. “Err, fine. Whatever. Sounds good.”

The sun starts to rise, the sky awash with red and orange hues. 

“I need a whole fucking pot of coffee.” Gavin grumbles, nudging his glasses up so he can scrub his eyes. “You comin’ or what?”

“Coming, Gavin.”

* * *

 

Director William T. Spears is a formidable man and Hank likes to think he’s not intimidated easily but there’s just something about a creature that’s centuries old wielding power incomprehensible that gives Hank the chills. Spears is old enough that he comes from the time where suicidal souls were wiped of their memories and started anew as children raised into their Duty. Lucky bastard. He’s here with a senior field reaper, some Scotsman in a kilt with a head of war braids and bleached blond hair. And three Synthetics; one slender mousy-haired male, one that looks as old as Connor with ginger and black hair, and one tall redhead, as tall as Nines. Hank watches them curiously through the glass walls of Fowler’s office.

“That is ST400, administration unit ‘Alan’, RK700, field unit ‘Ronald’, and Myrmidon unit, ‘Grell’.” Connor informs him helpfully as he follows Hank’s gaze to the office. “Ronald and I share the same field programming but I also have the administrative capabilities of Alan. Nines shares Ronald’s programming, but the military capabilities of Grell.” 

“So they modded you two for us yanks?” Gavin snorts, shaking his head. 

“We have been modified to suit American needs, yes.” Nines nods. 

“Why are they all here anyway?” Hank wrinkles his nose. “Spears I can get, he’s here to check how we’re dealing with you two. But the bots?”

“They are socially programmed too, Lieutenant.” Connor notes. “They may have asked to come along.”

“Myrmidon unit Grell will be deployed here for a joint mission with myself.” Nines declares. “We will be investigating the demon activity in the river.”

“That’s suicide!” Gavin protests. “We’ve lost eight reapers to that nest already!”

“The difference is we are expendable.” Nines says smoothly, eyes fixed on the Synthetics inside the office. “We can be destroyed and reuploaded. We are not considered alive.”

 

The door swings open before any of them can respond, and Hank feels his posture straighten as Director Spears walks out. Even Reed smartens up, though not before shooting Nines a hardened glare.

“Lieutenant. Senior Reaper.” He nods at each of them, and Hank nods in acknowledgement. “Are the RK units performing satisfactorily?”

“Yessir.” Hank nods again. 

“Please come with me, I will speak to each of you privately to assess their progress.” Spears leads Hank away, and Connor moves to follow them before an arm slings around his shoulder and prevents him from moving.

“Heeeeyyy Connie!” 

“Ronald!” Connor breaks into a wide smile and a laugh, wrapping an arm around his waist as Ronald bumps their heads together fondly. “It’s so good to see you!”

“I couldn’t miss a chance to sail across the pond and see Detroit for myself.” The Synthetic grins, hopping up and sitting on Hank’s desk. “C’mon, tell me all about it!”

 

Gavin rolls his eyes and returns to his desk, leaving the two- no, four since the mousy haired one and the kilted one joins them soon after, to chat. Nines stands beside his desk, back rigid.

“Err, you ok tincan?”

“Captain.” Nines crosses a hand over his chest and bows deeply as the redhead walks over. She smiles and Gavin nearly balks at her mouth full of canines. 

“Hello sweetheart.” Grell greets, leaning in to press a red kiss to his cheek. “How are you finding America?”

“Surprising.” Nines spares a glance at Reed. “Not at all what I expected.”

 

She’s...big. As big as Nines, with a mouth full of sharp teeth and a pair of wicked heels on her feet. She looks like she could snap him in half. Gavin tries not to stare.

“We’ll be heading out to that site as soon as Will’s done boring everyone to death.” She drawls toying with a long lock of red hair. Nines bows again, tone reverent.

“Ever at your command, Captain.” 

“Be careful of this one.” Grell leans right into Gavin’s face, tipping her head slightly to indicate Nines. “He’s a monster, but luckily only half. His bite is worse than his bark but he puts his bark to good use first.”

“And your bark could be worse than your bite, but unfortunately you are  _ all _ bite.” Nines says dryly and Grell tips her head back and laughs and Gavin sees all her teeth are indeed razor sharp. 

“I’ve missed your quips, darling.” Grell smooths his lapels. “Shall we go play?” 

“By your command, Captain.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Nines' accent is based on David 8 of Prometheus, who in turn mimicked Peter O'Toole's accent in Lawrence of Arabia.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZPjmDiJyzSE) The fic title is also from the same film.
> 
>  
> 
> [I'm still on this hellsite.](http://archadianskies.tumblr.com)


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